


The Hottest Blood of All

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Culture, Established Relationship, First Time, Lorne-napping, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rodney was trying to catch his eye, but John didn't need the prompting. "I'm afraid you're mistaken in your assumptions, then, because Lorne <b>is</b> bonded. So give him back before this gets really nasty."</i>
</p><p>A joint mission with Lorne's team seems harmless enough--but that's how they all start, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hottest Blood of All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Claire in the sga_santa exchange. Thank you to kageygirl, smittywing, and ozsaur for handholding and betaing. *hugs*

Sea slipped to land slipped to sea as Lorne guided the jumper just below the cloud-line. The majority of the planet's surface seemed to be nothing but a crazy-quilt of small green islands splashed through the grey-blue of the ocean. It reminded John of flying low-passes over the Agean, though the sun wasn't nearly as strong or the water as deep a blue here. The cloud mass above them undoubtedly had something to do with that. He wondered if it ever burned off, or if it was a permanent blanket wrapped around the planet.

"Huh." Rodney leaned forward, right hip pressing hard into the back of John's seat. He squinted at something on the HUD, then tapped his finger against his tablet. Not the screen, but the edge, like he was unconsciously trying to smack some smarts into it. "You were right. There _is_ something interfering with the jumper's sensors."

Lorne rolled his eyes, but he didn't look away from the display. "And here I was thinking I forgot how to read."

Rodney dropped the tablet to his side. "That's a more likely scenario than what's happening here. Are you sure you didn't, I don't know, _do_ something while you were gallivanting around?"

"Gallivanting?" John murmured. Sauntering, sure. He could even see Lorne strutting, under the right circumstances. But gallivanting? Rodney ignored him completely, but a small smile slid across Lorne's face before he glanced up and over his shoulder.

"What exactly would I have done, McKay?" Lorne was calm, if a bit sarcastic. John liked that about him; it took a bit of skill to handle Rodney even at the best of times, and Lorne seemed to have developed it well in the past few years. "I didn't spill my coffee on the dashboard, if that's what you're implying."

"No, that wasn't what I was implying. And everyone needs to get over the idea that Ancient systems are as simple as wires and circuit boards." He picked up his tablet again, aimlessly wiping at the screen. "Radek's just paranoid. Coffee isn't really that detrimental, as long as it's cleaned up quickly enough."

"Okay," John jumped in. He knew from experience when it was a good idea to turn Rodney away from a subject before things got out of hand. Especially since John was half the reason they knew what they did about coffee's effect on Ancient systems in the first place. "So do you know what the problem is or not?"

Rodney sighed. "I suspect it's interference of some kind from the atmosphere. Or possibly the planet's crust. From what specific source, I couldn't begin to guess. Well, I could, but the possibilities are practically if not actually infinite, and, frankly, I have more productive things to do with my time."

"Is one of those productive things determining if whatever this is is dangerous?"

"The interference itself?" Rodney frowned down at his tablet, looking like he was actually reading something from it this time. "I don't think so. Like I was saying, the Ancient systems aren't wire and insulation. They're built around crystals, and like any crystal, they're susceptible to harmonic resonance. Like when the whales' echo-location created errors in the navigation system. But this is only affecting a small portion of our systems, thank goodness. I mean, long range sensors are one thing, but can you imagine if it took out main power or our weap--"

John didn't like it when Rodney cut himself off. Didn't like it at all. "McKay?"

"Okay, look. I'm ninety-five percent sure-- Eight-five. Eighty-five percent sure that whatever this is, it's complete coincidence. But if somebody could do this intentionally, it'd be--"

"Dangerous." John eyed the jeweled islands with a little less appreciation and a lot more wariness.

"I was going to say impressive, but yes, that too."

"Could be related to what I saw," Lorne said mildly.

John sighed. Most of him really hoped it was a coincidence. "Definitely worth checking out. How much further?"

"Almost there." Lorne nodded at the landmass directly ahead of them, and two seconds later eased up on the joysticks, slowing their approach. John could barely make out the distant boundary of the far side of the island; it was the largest they'd seen yet. Lorne brought them in low over a natural harbor that curved like a lobster claw out of the near tip of the island. A pair of tall-masted ships, sails furled, sat anchored in the deeper waters, and fishing dories lined the wooden wharves that projected out from the coast.

"We tried a few of the other settlements first," Lorne added as he flew inwards, towards the overlooking landmass. "But this seems to be the main one. More or less."

"It is beautiful," Teyla said. John hadn't noticed when she stood up, but she was behind Lorne's chair now, mirroring Rodney behind him. Ronon probably didn't have a chance in hell of seeing anything but the backs of heads and shoulders. "It reminds me of a world I visited when I was very young, with my father. They lived in sailing ships half the time, so that the Wraith would not find them easily."

"What, that actually worked?" Rodney asked.

Teyla shook her head. "When we returned the next spring, they were gone. Their villages on land had been burned to the ground, and the harbor was full of broken ships."

That effectively killed the conversation. They watched in silence as Lorne gave them an aerial tour, slowly flying over the buildings that covered the top of the seaward hill like mushrooms on a log. The way the houses and streets wound up the steep slope again reminded John of Agean islands. Only with less plaster and a lot more wood. More like San Francisco, maybe, back before the gold rush hit.

Lorne set down in an open field between the last stretch of buildings and the inland forest beyond. It was stubbled with the yellow stalks of some kind of grass or grain, and more than wide enough to hold their fleet of jumpers. Didn't look like the villagers were starving, at least.

"Lead the way, Major."

John was more than happy to wait where he was while Lorne eased his way past Ronon and Teyla and Rodney to open the midway hatch, then wade again through his own team to the back. The jumpers weren't small, but once you got more than one team inside it felt like a bad family vacation in a cramped RV. And that was just on the short trips.

It took a little longer than it should have for everyone to file out. Once John finally passed the bench seats he realized why: a group of native settlers surrounded the jumper, hedging in close enough that John readjusted his grip on his P90. He slowed his steps, trying to get a good tactical read on the situation as quickly as possible.

He shook his head, relaxing his grip as he realized his initial assessment wasn't quite acurate. The settlers were mostly young women and older teenage girls--and they weren't surrounding the jumper. They were clustered around Lorne, cheeks apple-bright and eyes practically glowing with eagerness. Lorne looked up when John cleared his throat, and there was a bit of rosey-apple across his cheekbones, too.

"Sir." Lorne shifted like he wanted to take a flat-footed leap free of his admirers, but his smile seemed genuine as he gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Marliane. She's Chief Tradeswoman of the Noroon."

"Pleased to meet you." John held out his hand, and she took it in both of hers. She didn't quite bow over it, but it was a formal enough gesture that it didn't feel _too_ awkward. Teyla stepped forward, smoothly taking over the introductions.

"It is a pleasure to meet you all." Marliane smiled at the group of them, though her gaze lingered on Lorne just a bit longer. She was a pretty enough woman, in her early forties, maybe. There were sunlines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, but her hair was a deep auburn that made her blue eyes stand out in a way that didn't belong to any age. She reminded him of Teyla a bit, warm, calm, and clearly confident in her position, though she looked more like Lena Olin. With redder hair. "Evan said you were interested in seeing our village."

"That's what we're hoping for," John said, putting on his best visiting smile. She nodded once, still smiling, then led the procession away from the jumper. And it was a procession--eight of their people and a good double handful of Marliane's was enough to strike up a nice little march if they'd had the instruments to play it. John fell to the back of the group once again, letting Teyla take point while he made a casual surveillance of their rear. To his surprise, Lorne managed to ditch the women and fell into step beside him.

"I see you developed a quite a fanbase. Quick work, too."

Lorne shrugged, loose and one-shouldered. "You do your Elvis impersonation one time in this galaxy, and you're set for life."

John snorted. Lorne's eyes slid to the side, smile tipping up on the right, sharing the moment with him. Just a moment. Up ahead, Rodney paused at the edge of the field, gone still so fast that he drew John's attention more urgently than any blaring alarm could. He quickened his pace, but as he stepped up next to Rodney's side, there wasn't any need to ask.

"Wow."

Rodney hmmed in agreement. The settlement stretched out before them, rows of one- and two-storied buildings merrily jostled together along switchback and dead-end streets. There was something to catch the eye everywhere they looked: flowering bushes, a covered well, children playing with a ball, an old man sitting in front of his house and whittling away at something small in his hands. The whole village was bright and active--and then it just stopped. Blue ocean stretched to the horizon beyond the edge of the cliff, blending into the misty sky above it.

"You could make a fortune on postcards with a few snapshots of this," Rodney said.

"You really think anybody makes a fortune on postcards?"

"Somebody has to. The damn things wouldn't be everywhere if they didn't." Rodney held out his hands, framing the view. "Just slap 'Wish You Were at M52-7X9' across the bottom and watch them fly off the racks."

John shook his head. "I think you missed your true calling, McKay. Maybe you could take some online classes."

"Please. If I wanted to be a millionare, I would be. Can you say 'patent'?"

"Can you say 'property of the US Government' and 'classified'?"

Rodney frowned at him, but it looked more out of habit than humor. "As _if_ I'd let them have my best ideas."

"Besides the life-saving ones, you mean."

"Well, yes. Obviously." Rodney grinned, smug and satisfied, and John had to grin back. It almost felt like they were on vacation back on Earth, nothing to do but take in the view and bait each other.

"I'd like to paint this," Lorne said quietly from his other side. "Or try to, anyway. The colors are incredible."

John raised an eyebrow. "You paint?"

"When I get the time." Lorne jerked his head up, looking away with the view and towards John with wide eyes. "Uh, not that I do it on missions. I just meant--"

"Relax, Major. I know what you meant," John murmured. He was a little surprised at the skittish reaction, considering Lorne could bell a yawning tiger and not get excited, but then again, painting wasn't the most martial of hobbies. He'd probably gotten teased for it a time or two in the past. John was curious, but that curiosity could wait for later.

"Our guides are waiting," he said, lifting his chin towards Marliane, who was standing next to the well at the edge of the village. She had one hand fisted in her skirt, keeping the heavy breeze from whipping it out of control, and the other curled around the support beam next to her. John pressed his left knuckles into the small of Rodney's back, urging him forward. "Come on, quit gawking."

"I wasn't _gawking_ ," Rodney grumbled. "I was just getting my bearings."

"They are very pretty bearings," Teyla said, smiling over her shoulder at them. "Anyone would want to take some time to appreciate the view."

"Yes, well."

Ronon slapped an arm around Rodney's shoulders, rocking him back and forth with enough force that Rodney veered off the path and then back on again. "McKay here just doesn't want to admit there's more to life than computers and science stuff."

"Would you stop manhandling...me?" Rodney happened to glance over to him just as he said _-handling_ , and John raised an eyebrow. The stutter and flush in response could easily be written off as irritation, but John knew better. Ronon let go--though not without a parting enthusiastic pat between the shoulder blades--and Rodney tugged his tac vest down with a grumpy jerk that just made John want to mess it all up again. "And don't think I won't remember this the next time my 'science stuff' is the only thing standing between us and annihilation."

Ronon turned around, loping backwards down the slope of the gravel-paved road so that he could grin at Rodney. "What are you going to do, not save yourself just to get back at me?"

"You never know," Rodney said, jutting his chin forward. "You really want to push me?"

Ronon held up his hands, palms forward in surrender. "Okay, man," he laughed. "I get it." Then he turned back around, jogging forward to where Teyla and Lorne had rejoined the main pack of the villagers.

John kept silent for a couple minutes, taking in the houses they passed as they headed towards a lower section of the town. Most of them were one-story, built from rough-hewn planks of wood, but they were washed with a sunset of colors: burnt yellows and rust orange, pale pinks and a deep indigo-y purple. The roofs were shingled with rough-hewn shakes that had greyed with exposure. It was kind of a mish-mash look when you tried to sort it out, but overall the impression was nice. Especially with the windchimes that dangled in front of nearly every house, seashells and unidentifiable baubles clinking merrily in the breeze.

Rodney sighed before they reached the first switchback.

"Something wrong?"

Rodney sighed again. "No. Well, yes. I have no idea what's causing the interference, there's no sign of any power readings or natural anomalies nearby that could be responsible, and instead of actually looking for the problem, we're here playing nicey-nice with yet another gaggle of fawning women."

"Playing nicey-nice _is_ looking for the problem. You know that." John moved half a step closer and lowered his voice. "And they hardly even looked at me, Rodney. Not anywhere near fawning levels, that's for sure."

"Yes, well." Rodney's gaze slid towards him before he shrugged. "They were fawning all over Lorne. It makes me uneasy. Makes me wonder what they really want from us."

"Eh, Lorne's a good-looking guy." John bumped Rodney's shoulder with his own. He understood the paranoia; they'd been burned so many times before that he had a hard time accepting a friendly gesture for what it was, himself. But paranoia didn't get the galaxy explored or put food on the table. "It's probably a good thing. Means they have taste."

"If they had taste, they'd be fawning over me." Rodney's lips quirked up as he said it, and John couldn't help laughing.

"Yeah, well, I don't think they've got a good enough grasp of theoretical astrophysics to truly appreciate you, Rodney." Before Rodney could protest anymore, John quickened his pace, moving to join Marliane, Lorne, and Teyla. They were standing in front of a two-story building, large compared to the houses they'd passed on the way down. John took a moment to look around, to see what he'd missed while he was talking with Rodney.

They weren't in a town square, not exactly. There just wasn't enough room for a square as such, given the slope, but the street did widen somewhat so that the buildings all faced inward, giving the area a mercantile feel. They'd drawn the attention of most of the townspeople, but some were still going about their business. One of the building was more like an open-sided shed, and John could see a woman blowing glass. He watched, mesmerized, as a blob of red hot goo expanded to the size of a softball. Then she pulled the blowing tube away from her mouth and carted the whole thing across the room, where he couldn't see exactly what she did with it.

"Floats," Lorne explained quietly. "For their fishing nets."

"Right." John tipped his head down, fidgeting with his sunglasses in order to cover his mouth. "You ever feel like you bought a ticket to one of those Renaissance Faire things, and somebody forgot to let you back out at the end of the day?"

Lorne snorted. "I'm mostly still stuck on the space ships and aliens part of it, myself."

"That too." He dropped his hand and smiled when he noticed Teyla and Marliane looking over at them. Must be go time. "You have a beautiful home," he said in his outside voice, smiling at Marliane with his best company smile. Didn't even make a dent, though; she still only had eyes for Lorne.

"You haven't seen half of it yet," she said. "This is our meeting hall, where we conduct matters of trade. It's usual for visitors to spend time among our people, see the beauty of our wares, before we sit down to talk in earnest, however."

"That makes sense." John tipped up on his toes, trying to see through the gap between the buildings and down to the rest of the settlement. It wasn't big as far as Earth cities went, but it wasn't exactly two gas stations and a stop sign, either. "So, how many wares are we talking about seeing? Round about, anyway."

Marliane laughed. "Evan told me that he wanted to show you some specific things, so I will let you choose your own path. Though I am more than willing to serve as guide if you wish."

"Evan told you that, did he? Well, good." John turned his grin on Lorne. "I think I should probably follow him, then."

"Please, if you have questions, anyone will be more than happy to help you," Marliane said. "Don't worry if we seem concerned with other things. It's just that our men returned this morning, and there is much cargo to distribute."

"No, it's not a problem," he replied, though he had to raise an eyebrow. He was guessing that the 'men' reference was more figurative than literal, because there were a handful of guys moving about, working in the little cottage businesses. Not a lot though; women and children definitely outnumbered them, maybe three to one. "I'm sure we can find our own way."

"Colonel Sheppard," Dr. Lindsay said quickly. She was the semi-permanent social sciences adjunct for Lorne's team, and John had a habit of forgetting she was around because she was so quiet most of the time. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay with Marliane. I'll be able to gain a much clearer understanding of their society by observing her daily activities, rather than acting as a tourist with the rest of you."

John nodded. "You're in sociology, right?"

"Cultural anthropology, actually."

Rodney coughed--but if he expounded on his opinion verbally, John didn't hear it. John shifted to the left, trying to block him from Marliane's view. There didn't seem to be a lot of lip readers in this galaxy, but sometimes it was better to be safe than sorry. "Hey, if it's okay with Marliane, it's okay with me."

"Anna is most welcome to stay." Marliane drew Dr. Lindsay forward with a hand on her elbow, then wrapped a motherly arm around her shoulders. "Maybe you can finish telling me about your culture's courtship rituals."

Ronon snorted.

"Well, we should be going," Lorne jumped in. He was looking a little pink under the collar again. "It's not far, Colonel. Just a few levels down."

"Right. Friedman, stay with Lindsay. And don't sign any marriage contracts while we're gone." Friedman's eyes went a little wide as he looked from John to Lorne to Marliane, like he was suddenly afraid that Lorne taking himself out of the picture might make him the next prospect in line. "Have fun," John said, aware that he was being more than a little evil, then turned to follow Lorne.

"Colonel. I would actually like to stay with them, as well," Teyla said before he could get far. "To inspect their wares. I may be able to interest them in trading with my people, if they have anything of value. Unless you think that I will be needed while you...investigate."

John looked at Lorne, who shook his head. "Shouldn't be a problem. Keep--" Ronon shook his head hard, once, and John changed course in midstream. "--Danforth with you."

"I do not need a guard while I discuss matters of trade, John."

"Hey, it's the buddy system. And besides--we look like a herd of cows grouped up like this."

Teyla sighed. "I suppose you are right."

John looked over his shoulder, grinning at Danforth. "You don't mind keeping Teyla company, do you, Corporal?"

"No, sir." Danforth had the teeth of a smoker, so he always smiled tight unless you caught him off guard. This time a bit of yellow peeked out between his lips. "Not at all."

"Then it will be good to have a buddy." Teyla's gaze slid toward Danforth, sly smile on her lips. "So I know that he will be protected if we happen to be attacked."

John chuckled, and Danforth joined in a second later. Which was good; it wouldn't be pretty if Danforth was too chauvinistic to take a little ribbing. Not that what Teyla said was a joke, really. John had a very short list in his head of the men on base who could take Teyla in a fight, and Danforth's name wasn't on it.

His own name wasn't on it, either, but he was working on getting there.

Teyla and Danforth peeled away before they started down the hill, stopping to talk to a woman who was carving on what looked like bone. John wondered if they whaled here. Rodney wouldn't be happy if they did; he still hadn't gotten over leaving his friend Sam behind on their former planet.

They walked down through the village for several minutes, nodding politely to the people they passed. Now that he was thinking about it, John realized most of the adults were women of varying ages, or older men. Now and then he'd spot a younger man, usually dressed in dark breeches and a loose shirt, pulling small carts loaded with supplies or flirting with the women.

Then Lorne stopped. They were a couple yards from the entrance to what looked like an inn or tavern. "I noticed it right away," he said, pointing upwards.

John followed his line of sight, right up to the dangling signboard above the door. It was simple wood, like the planks that made up the houses, and a simple painting filled the center: three black towers rising from a swirl of clouds. One tower was larger than the rest, and strokes of yellow surrounded it, giving the impression of light shining out--right at the level that Atlantis's control room would be.

"Well now." John glanced over at Rodney, who was staring up at the sign like it was advertising lemons. "I'd say you found yourself a conversation starter, Major."

"Just conversation? I thought it'd be worth at least a beer or two."

John held in his grin. "I'm old and jaded. Going to have to have more on offer than that before I start buying you drinks."

Lorne flashed him a wide grin. "Then I hope you brought plenty of cash, sir. I'm feeling pretty thirsty today."

Rodney coughed. "Yes, well. Unless the rest of your evidence is better than this finger painting, I say we wrap things up and start making aerial sweeps."

"I'm touched by your faith, Rodney," Lorne said, still grinning. "How about you buy the first round?"

Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. But only if whatever you're so hung up on is actually better than something my niece come up with when she was three."

"I don't care what it is," Ronon said, pushing past Rodney. "But there better be something to drink after you guys spent all this time talking about it."

The inside of the inn was...impressively boring. A scattering of tables and chairs, plain ironwork chandeliers with unlit candles, and a short bar to the right side of the main room. Behind the bar was a narrow column of shelves that held assorted jugs and bottles, and a rack of wooden casks that took up the bulk of the wall. There wasn't any barman in sight, which spoke to just how busy the place wasn't.

"This way," Lorne said, heading towards a door on the left.

John stopped with one foot over the threshold.

The room appeared to be a private dining room, like something that might be rented out for a small reception. A pair of those same plain chandeliers, also unlit, hung low over a long trestle table. High-backed chairs were crowded close together all the way around the table. No fire codes here, apparently. The whole room would have been too dim to make out any details, except there was a square window set high into the far wall. The sun shining in turned the space around them hazy with dust motes, but the rays were angled just right to spotlight the tile mural on the opposite wall.

Rodney wouldn't be able to label this one simple finger painting. The tiles looked fairly old, but they were laid together smoothly, so that the groutwork was barely visible. The painting itself was vibrant, the detail nearly photographic. Blue-green swells lapped at the base of the main tower, and cotton-puffy clouds wrapped round the middle of all three. And there were tiny black sea birds wheeling through the grey sky.

The towers themselves were a deep, glimmering burgandy that was so familiar that for a moment, John was sure he was looking at Atlantis. But even though the main tower was strikingly similar to theirs, the other two were little more than needles projecting skywards from the water. Either this was some other city than Atlantis, or the artist had never actually seen what had inspired him.

Rodney sighed. "I don't, ah, actually have anything on me to barter with."

"Never fear, young man. First time visitors always drink on the house."

They turned as a unit, though Lorne moved a little bit more slowly than the rest of them, smiling as he did. A white-haired man was leaning against the doorframe, and _his_ smile said he was already acquainted with Lorne.

"I was wondering where you were, Henton." Lorne held out his hand, and they shook. "Thought I was going to have to tell your stories myself."

"I'm sure you'd do a fine job, lad. Even if you don't have my flair." He grinned at John and held out his hand. "He said he'd be bringing back his crew, but I didn't think it'd be so quick."

"Oh, we're never ones to let the opportunity for a good story slip by." John pointed to the mural. "Did you paint that?"

Henton laughed. "Oh, no, not me. My handiwork's hanging out front, and that was from when my hands didn't shake half the time." He stepped back out of the room, beckoning them to follow. "Come on, let me loosen what's between your ears a little. Makes the stories so much better."

"My grandfather built this place," Henton said as he began filling ceramic steins from one of the casks. "There was an inn here before that, but the Wraith burned it to the ground, and the family with it. Nobody else stepped forward to claim the land, so now we have The Spires Tavern because of him."

"So you guys do have problems with the Wraith," John said as he took the first pint. It was good beer, as far as local brews went. Thicker than Guinness, but not as smokey, and it had a touch of sweetness to it that spoke of honey somewhere in the mix.

"Everybody has problems with the Wraith. Don't try to tell me they don't." Henton drew the final beer, one for himself, then sat down on a stool that was hidden behind the bar. "We keep our villages small and spread out, though, and more often than not they pass us by."

 

"But not always," Ronon said.

Henton nodded. "Not always. That was a bad day, to hear the tales. Killed half our people and burnt down most of the village. And the ships. All the ships that were in the harbor, split in half like a rotten log and sunk."

"They were lucky anybody survived," Ronon said quietly. John looked down into his mug, fighting down the guilt that always tried to overwhelm him. Didn't make any difference that Sateda had been wiped out before John had made major. Never would.

"I don't know that my grandfather would have agreed with you, but I'm pleased that there are some of us still around." Henton pointed towards the private room. "He's the one who did the painting. He was sea-bonded, before Papa Dii was taken. And even though he still had Mama Rodith, I don't think he ever stopped missing Dii or the sea."

John glanced over at Lorne, who shrugged.

"So have you seen these spires?" Rodney asked. "Do you know what they do? Who built them?"

"Me? No. They don't even exist, for all I know." Henton pulled out a flannel cloth from somewhere and started wiping at the dampness around the base of his stein. "My grandfather never acted like they were anything but real, but who knows? The sailormen always say that the spires guard us from the Wraith, but the whole lot of them are superstitious. Have a saying for every last bit of sand you pick up between your toes. Obviously those spires didn't do a damn bit of good that day."

"Maybe that's because they were out of power," Rodney said. John could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I wouldn't know anything about that. I asked all the time when I was a little boy, but he said that was for the sailormen to know, and no one else." Henton's smile was wistful. "That's the only thing I regret about never pledging to the sea."

"I was thinking about his story after I left," Lorne said. "How come he built a tavern after the attack? He was young, right? He could have gone back to sailing."

"Ahh, I suppose it was there was so much to be rebuilt." Henton smiled. "And... I heard him tell my grandmother every day that he loved her, and that he'd always stay at her side. But really, I think the truth is that he only sailed because Papa Dii did. And Papa Dii was the love of his heart."

John swallowed wrong. He tried to control the cough as he struggled for air, but the beer rushed up and out of his nose, thick and burning.

"Oh, that is disgusting!" Rodney yelped, jumping off his stool and four feet out of range--even though he'd been a foot out of range to begin with.

"Easy there, son." Henton handed over his mop cloth. "It's a sippin' brew, not one for chugging."

"Thanks," John croaked out as he wiped down his face. "I'll remember that from now on."

"Not the first time I've seen it happen," Henton said, taking the cloth back from him. "Though usually with the ones quite a bit younger than you. The ones who haven't been drinking long enough to be used to the strong stuff."

"So you said the spires are a secret of the sailors," Lorne jumped in before John's ego could take any more of a beating. "You sure none of them would talk to us?"

Henton chuckled. "Oh, I bet they'd talk to you, son. Once they've been celebrating half the night, anyway. Talk to Fedeth, see if he'll take you down to the docks tonight."

"Fedeth?" John asked.

"Marliane's brother," Lorne answered. "I met him briefly, but he sailed out soon after I got here."

"They got back in this morning." Henton knocked his knuckles against the cask beside him. "Just a quick trip to Splitback, part of our regular trade. I imagine he's still with the ships, if you didn't see him with Marliane."

Lorne nodded. "We'll make our way down there. Thanks for talking with us, Henton."

"And for the beer," John added, holding out his hand. The Noroon seemed to like shaking hands, which was a nice change from the forehead touching and bowing and other customs that they ran into most places.

Rodney opened his mouth almost before they were out the door. "Sea-bonded? Love of his heart? Did that mean what I think it meant?"

"Lower your voice, McKay," John ordered.

"Why? It's not like they don't know about themselves."

"No, but it's rude to stand around blabbing about people where they can hear you right after they've given you free beer." John waved to a pair of women who were staring at them as they walked by. One of them waved back, and then they both started laughing.

"Oh. Right."

Ronon led them over to a knee-high stone wall that guarded a short drop to the street below the level they were on. Rodney immediately sat down and pulled out his scanner. John propped his right foot on the ledge, far enough from Rodney's thigh that it didn't look sketchy, but close enough that... Well, it was close enough. He crossed his wrists over his P90. From this angle he couldn't see the docks or most of the harbor, and the mist had rolled in so that only a fringe of the ocean showed clear.

"So what's the deal with this Fedeth?" he asked.

Lorne shrugged. "Like I said, he's Marliane's brother. Real big guy, taller than Ronon, but he seems nice enough. They're a little overwhelming when they're together, but I think that's the whole brother-sister competitive thing."

"Oh, joy." Rodney frowned at his scanner, tilted it a couple times against the glare of the sun, then stuffed it back into his vest. "I suggest we make every attempt to talk to him on his own, then."

"You know, one of these days you're going to admit that you like hanging out with Jeannie, and the world won't actually end."

"Or it just might cause the multiverse to implode. I give it even odds." Rodney stood up, knocking his hip against John's knee as he turned. He didn't move away. "So are we really going to ignore the whole homosexual subtext back there? Because I don't know about you, but it definitely sounded like Henton's grandpappy was more than just best buds with that Dee guy."

John shrugged. "I don't see why it matters. Their business, not ours."

"Yes, I know that, but..." Rodney glanced back over his shoulder, then looked away just as quickly. John was pretty sure he knew what he was thinking. But Lorne's team was here, and John wasn't going to take any chances.

Lorne cleared his throat. "Actually, sir. If it's as institutionalized as it sounds, that might make it easier to get information out of the sailors. If it's some kind of Spartan thing..."

John nodded slowly. "You're thinking they might recognize some kind of kinship with fellow warriors, that kind of thing."

"I don't think they're that much into fighting, but yeah, maybe." Lorne grinned. "I mean, space ships, sea ships, they're not that different, right?"

John snorted. "It's a good thing you didn't join the navy, Major."

"Yeah, but I would have looked damn good in the uniform."

 _That_ was nothing but the truth. John looked away from Lorne's pretty white smile--and found Rodney staring at Lorne, lips pursed specutively. He sighed and tried to pull his thoughts back from dangerous territory.

"You think Friedman or Danforth will have any problem with this?"

Lorne shrugged one shoulder. "It might be a good idea to put them on jumper duty later."

John sighed. He hadn't had much opportunity to get to know either soldier all that well, but he wasn't surprised by Lorne's assesment. "All right. But first let's find this Fedeth and talk to him. For all we know, we could be way off base with this."

"Don't think so," Ronon said. He pointed down the hill, at a house that seemed a little nicer than those around it. It had a courtyard in front--a luxury in the narrow space--and window boxes full of purple flowers. There was a statue in the middle of the courtyard, carved from deep black stone. John squinted, trying to puzzle out the details that bled together in the dreary afternoon light. It looked like a giant anchor with two people clinging to the shank, feet balanced on the flukes to either side. Clinging to each other, too.

"Are they doing what I think they're doing?" Rodney asked.

"If you think they're getting off, then yeah." Ronon's grin was a bit feral, but then he did have the best eyesight of any of them. "Looks like they're having a good time, even with that pole in the way."

"Who does that, anyway? What if one of them slipped?"

"I'm pretty sure it's just art, Rodney." But the guy who stepped out of the fancy house was real enough. He glanced up to where the group of them stood, then started walking towards them at a good pace. John nudged Lorne with the earpiece of his sunglasses. "You know that guy?"

"That guy," Lorne said, "is Fedeth."

*****

Fedeth was a big man. He had an inch or two on Ronon, and his shoulders were broad enough that John bet he had to turn sideways to get through the doors around here. The resemblence to Marliane was clear in his eyes, cheekbones, and mouth, but where her hair was a sleek auburn, Fedeth's was a sunbleached strawberry that curled above his shoulders and went kind of wild whenever the wind gusted. He was all smiles as he approached, and he latched onto Lorne almost immediately.

"You're back, good." He nodded to John, Rodney, and Ronon, but he didn't bother with formal introductions like Marliane had. He just slung one arm around Lorne's shoulders and waved towards the house he'd come from with the other hand. "Come, Abalyn has just finished preparing the food. There's plenty for all of you."

"Food?" Rodney held up a finger. "Just, ah, is there any lemon in it? Citrus? It's a kind of sour, acid fruit. Tart, I think, although I'm not really the best one to ask--"

John slapped a hand down on Rodney's shoulder. "McKay here is allergic to some foods. But we'd be happy to join you. Right, Rodney?"

"Yes, of course." Rodney frowned at his hand. "I just want to make sure I don't cause a intergalactic incident by accidentally dying at the dinner table."

Fedeth laughed. Louder and a lot harder than Rodney's sarcasm really deserved. "Then we will have to make sure we don't serve anything too tart for your tongue, won't we?" He gave Rodney a friendly nudge with his free hand, then turned Lorne down the slope and started walking. Rodney followed, practically on Fedeth's heels, no doubt looking forward to the prospect of a citrus-free meal.

John looked at Ronon. Ronon shrugged. "Food's always better when it's hot," he said, and fell in line behind the others.

"Not ice cream," John said, mostly to himself. "Or sushi. Oh, and Jell-O. You just really can't have hot Jell-O."

"Tried to heat up Jell-O once," Ronon said, grinning over his shoulder. "Turned into blue soup. Didn't think my tongue would ever go red again."

John snorted. Only Ronon would actually _drink_ Jell-O soup once he was past the age of six. Well, he wouldn't put it past Rodney, actually. He was about to tell Ronon to give Jolly Ranchers a try if he wanted to experiment with tongue color, when he realized they were drawing even with the...interesting statue. Up close there was no mistaking how happy the men clinging to the anchor were, or the fact that they were being happy _together_.

He didn't have time to stare at it, though, because a woman had emerged from the house. She was about Lorne's height, white-blonde, and very, very pregnant. Fedeth curled his left arm around her shoulders, though he still hadn't let go of Lorne. They looked like some kind of fancy wrought-iron fence, short blades on two sides with a long spike in between.

"Fedeth! Let me see to them," the woman said, playfully smacking his arm away. She stepped forward and held out both hands to them. John wasn't exactly sure what to do, so he held out one of his. She pulled him forward, urging him past Fedith and into the house.

"I'm Abalyn," she said. "We only heard moments ago that you had arrived, so I'm afraid I haven't prepared much."

"We only _got here_ moments ago," John said. "It's not like we were expecting a big gala event or anything."

Abyalyn smiled and didn't say anything more. She seemed a lot quieter than Fedeth, more of an introvert to his extrovert. But not shy about playing hostess, leading the group into the large room to the right of the entryway with obvious pride. He'd seen a small kitchen-ish room to the left when they came in, one with a small four-seater table and an upright stove, but this room was clearly meant for guests. A long table stretched nearly from wall to wall, with ten high-backed chairs clustered around it.

"Sit, sit." Fedeth set his hand on the back of the head chair and motioned them towards the empty seats. "Take what you like. We don't have ceremonies here."

Despite Ronon's earlier assumption, the food wasn't actually hot. John wasn't sure whether it was supposed to be a simple meal or a filling snack, but it was good either way. Heavy-grain bread, some kind of aged cheese, and a smoked fish spread that had Rodney moaning and rolling his eyes.

John picked up a pickle and chewed on it slowly, wondering what was the best way to bring up the spires. "You seem pretty used to having visitors," he finally ventured. "That kind of surprises me, what with the stargate so far away."

"Stargate?" Abalyn asked.

"Ring of the Ancestors," Ronon answered, mouth stuffed full of bread and cheese.

"Ah, but we are not limited by land travel like so many other worlds are," Fedith said. He gestured at John with a hunk of bread in his hand. "We might not move as quickly as your air ships, but on sea we are faster than any traveling over land that I have met. The distance to the ring is nothing."

Rodney cleared his throat. "So, ah, do you have a regular schedule, or do just show up whenever you feel like it and hope somebody's there?"

"McKay..." Lorne warned, and Rodney gave him the same look that he'd given John so many times over the past four years.

"What? It's a legitimate question."

Fedeth laughed. "Yes, we have a regular route. Our allies are well aware--" He didn't finish, though, because enough racket sounded from the front of the house that John wondered if an entire platoon was trying to shove their way in. Fedeth screeched his chair back and stood up.

"Well, get on in, woman!" he called out. "Before I think you're trying to rob me!"

A woman laughed in response, and a second later Marliane stepped into the room. She and Fedeth hugged, kind of European-style, and when they moved apart John could finally see Lindsay and Friedman jammed in the doorway, Teyla and Danforth behind them. Or at least he assumed Teyla was back there; all he could see of her was a halo of reddish-brown hair behind Friedman's shoulder.

"Someone whispered to me that you were going to make Abalyn work her fingers to the bone," Marliane said, fingers curled into Fedeth's forearm. "For shame, brother mine. For shame."

"I'm fine," Abalyn said, but her soft voice was lost between the two siblings.

"So you bring her more mouths to feed?" Fedeth asked. "Marly, you outdo yourself this time."

"Yes, I do." Marliane grinned up at him. "I suppose you won't be wanting any of my pie, then?"

"Only if you serve yourself a plate of respect along with it!"

Marliane just laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. Then she gathered up Abalyn with a glance, and together they managed to slip between the rest of John's people and out of the room.

Fedeth sank back down into his chair. "That woman needs to find a new husband, so she'll stop mothering me." Fedeth very clearly didn't look at Lorne, but John couldn't help watch the way Lorne squirmed in his chair. He wasn't blushing, but he looked uncomfortable enough that John knew he was aware of the interest implied. Aware, and not necessarily happy about it.

That really shouldn't please John as much as it did.

Teyla and the rest of the team spread out around the table, taking the rest of the open chairs. Rodney leaned over as they passed behind him, into Lorne's space, and whispered something that made Lorne chuckle. Dirtily. Rodney's lips drew up high to one side, his eyelashes dipped low, and his cheeks brightened in the way they did whenever he came up with some of the filthiest suggestions John had ever heard. John shifted in his chair and tried to take some interest in the way Teyla was overseeing the distribution of bread or how Danforth couldn't seem to figure out how to arrange his P90 and reach for the pickles at the same time.

"You were asking about our trade," Fedeth said. "Marliane is the one to speak with about specifics. Especially since you clearly do not need our vessels."

"Actually," John said, sensing the perfect opening, "we're not as much interested in exchanging goods as we are information."

"That is a disappointment," Marliane said as she reentered the room. She and Abalyn were each carrying serving plates full of food. "Teyla has spoken of some interesting wares that her people make."

As they set the food down, John realized they were one chair short--but Ronon jumped up first. Marliane patted his cheek, stretching her hand up with a naturalness that said she did it to Fedeth all the time, and accepted the seat as if it were her due.

"John did not mean that we are opposed to trade," Teyla said, reprimanding him with a look. "Also, he does not speak for me or my people in these matters."

"Yeah. What she said." John nodded at Teyla, and got a pointed eyebrow in reply. "It's just that we're really curious about something."

"The spires," Lorne said. "We saw the paintings at the tavern, and Henton said that you were the one to ask."

Fedeth went still. He looked at Lorne for a long moment, chewing his mouthful of bread with slow, deliberate motions. He swallowed, then tossed the bread left in his hand to his plate. "It is not for mixed company."

"Mixed company?" Rodney snorted. "What, because Teyla might somehow--" He cut off with a yelp. John wasn't sure who had done what, but it hadn't been him. Lorne, possibly, or Teyla herself from Rodney's other side.

"Could we maybe talk about it later?" John asked Fedeth. "Somewhere less, uh, _mixed_?"

"Henton said something about a gathering tonight," Lorne said.

Fedeth leaned forward, elbows planted on the table. "You truly want to see the spires?"

Lorne looked at John, but he didn't wait for encouragement. "Yes. I do."

Fedeth nodded. "Then so be it. Tonight, you shall see them." He stood up, looking down at the table like a king surveying his throne room. "But for now I have work to finish. I will send someone for you when it is time." He wagged his finger at Marliane. "Do not stuff them with pie all afternoon!"

"Don't forget to raise your head out of your mug before you drown!" Marliane shot back. Fedeth just laughed. While they'd been jousting with each other, Abalyn had stood up, moving so quietly that John hadn't even noticed her until she gathered Fedeth's plate and mug from right next to him. Fedeth bent low to whisper something in her ear, and then left the room with a parting wave and smile.

"Please, sit down," Abalyn said, waving to Ronon. "I am sorry we had no space for you before."

"I've been worse places, believe me." Ronon set his plate down on the table, but before he could do the same with his half-empty mug Abalyn scooped it out of his hand.

"Here, let me fill that for you."

John waited until she'd bustled out of the room, then leaned forward. "Is it just me, or did that go a lot easier than it should have?"

Lorne smirked. "I don't know, sir. Kind of took a bit longer than it usually does for me."

John was tempted to stick out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah. Rub it in. Just remember who signs your evals."

"Colonel Sheppard."

John tore his gaze away from Lorne's amused eyes. He had to lean forward to spot Lindsay on the other side of Marliane and Friedman. "Doctor?"

"It's obvious that Teyla and myself won't be welcome at the gathering tonight." She looked irritated, but not surprised. He wondered how often her work was stymied by this very thing. "But I have a camera with me and I was wondering--"

"They won't welcome you knowing their secrets, no matter how you try to get them down," Marliane said. She shook her head. "Not that it's all that secret, what they do. Eat the better part of today's catch, drink until they're more stupid than usual, and then get sloppy all over each other like they don't have wives waiting for them in their real homes."

Friedman coughed, like he was about to repeat John's earlier beer explosion. Yeah, it'd probably be better all around if both he and Danforth stayed home instead of partying tonight.

"I, for one, will be more than happy to spend more time talking with you," Teyla said smoothly, smiling at Marliane. "I didn't have much time, earlier, but the work I saw of your artisans was most impressive."

"Oh, yes! I saw some beautiful scrimshaw on the way here," Lindsay said, excited again. "Is that traditionally done by the women, then?"

John sighed and eased back in his chair. It was going to be a long afternoon, he could tell. Full of talk about which world had the best grain and and how the tides affected trade routes. Rodney was looking bored already. John figured his scanner would make an appearance in the next thirty seconds, but Abalyn returned with another drink for Ronon in one hand and a rectangular dish topped with a flakey crust in the other. Dark purple juice stained the edges, and Rodney went on point the instant it touched down in front of him.

"So," John said to Abalyn as she started dishing up the pie. "Has anybody around here ever heard of surfing?"

*****

"Gotta talk to you." Ronon nodded at the kitchen room a few feet behind them. John raised an eyebrow, but he followed Ronon over, trying to do so as inconspiciously as possible.

"What's up?"

"I was, uh, thinking of sitting this one out. You think you guys can handle it without me?"

Both of John's eyebrows went climbing. _That_ wasn't something he ever expected to hear out of Ronon. "You okay?"

Ronon bobbed his head back and forth, maybe-yes maybe-no, which was as good as admitting he needed to curl up and die--soon. "If I had to fight, I'd fight. But if we're just going to hang around and drink while they bullshit, well, I'd like to sit this one out."

John frowned. "Be straight with me, Ronon. Do we need to go back to Atlantis, get you checked out?"

"No, man." Ronon grimaced and rubbed at his stomach. "Something they fed us just isn't sitting right. I'll get over it, but if you want me to drink on top of everything else..."

"I get the picture." He'd been there himself in the past. To this day he couldn't look at corned beef without feeling queasy thanks to a childhood bout of stomach flu. And that hadn't been half as bad as some of the food poisoning he'd had when he was first stationed overseas. He patted Ronon on the shoulder, a lot more gently than he usually did. "We'll be fine. But if you get any worse, radio me. I don't want you dying of dehydration because you're too stuborn to admit there's a problem."

"Yeah, yeah." Ronon managed a half-hearted grin. "If more goes out than goes in, I'll make sure to tell you all about it."

"Great, thanks." John wrinkled his nose. Ronon's grin got a bit bigger, definitely smugger, and then he slipped away, back towards the padded bench where he'd been hanging out for the last hour. John watched him move, considering scrapping the mission anyway. He should have realized something was going on earlier. The first time Ronon had scuttled out of the room, John figured he was sneaking away from the discussion on the benefits of crop rotation. But even with all the in and out the rest of the afternoon, John had just attributed it to Ronon's natural restlessness.

John sighed. He was just going to have to trust Ronon's judgment on this one.

"What was all that about?" Rodney asked.

John shook his head. "Ronon's going to keep an eye on things here. Ready?"

"We were waiting for you two." Rodney finally looked away from Ronon. "So it's just going to be the three of us? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We'll be fine." John gave Rodney a little push, turning him towards the front door. "It's a clam bake, McKay. Not the Battle of Normandy."

"Which means there will be seafood, which means there will probably be lemons." Rodney's face screwed up like he was tasting lemon-spritzed lobster _right now_.

"That's the spirit." John smiled at Abalyn as they passed the dining table, and gave Rodney another little push to get him out the door at last. Lorne and their guide--his name was Tims, or Toms, something familiar that shouldn't be plural--were waiting for them, Lorne leaning nonchalantly against the base of _that_ statue. John ignored the way his pulse sped up and nodded at both of them.

He figured they'd have to walk all the way down the long curve of land to get to the harbor, but Tims led them away from the down slope, over to where the island ended in a near-sheer cliff. John hadn't noticed it when they flew in, but there was a shed a few feet from the edge and what looked like a short dock next to it. At the end of the dock was a platform hitched to a complicated rope-and-pulley setup.

"Cool," he said, stepping up to the edge so he could get a better look at how the elevator worked. The base of the cliff was in deep shadows, but he could tell that the drop really wasn't as far as he thought it was. Still deadly, yeah, but not high enough that it made the whole rope thing impossible. Looked pretty climbable, too.

"Cool?" Rodney sounded a lot more freaked out about this than any possible lemons. "Are you nuts? What part of plunging to a certain death is cool to you?"

"I'm sure it's perfectly safe, McKay." He gave the pulley system a distant once-over, but nothing horribly wrong jumped out at him. "Right, uh, Toms?"

"I don't know about safe," Toms said, flashing that same crazy feral grin that Fedeth had. "But if you hang on tight, you shouldn't have any problem."

Lorne climbed on first, going right up to the corner between the wooden rail on the right and the thick rope that was the only protection at the front. Rodney looked like he was about to be sick, but he got on, planting himself in the very middle of the platform.

"You heard him," John said quietly as he stepped up behind Rodney. "Probably want to hang onto the railing."

"Like that flimsy thing would do any good," he said, but he stepped to the left and wrapped his hand around the wood. The strength of his grip turned his knuckles white, and John hoped that the railing wasn't as flimsy as Rodney had proclaimed.

"It's not the height," Rodney said, quietly, just for him to hear. "It's that I don't trust anyone who's not, well, me, to take into the account everything that could go wrong."

"I kind of got that, yeah." The elevator lurched into motion, and Rodney went pale around the mouth. Lorne was staring out, not down, grinning at the view and the rush like any pilot would, and Toms was behind them, working the brake system. John curled his hand into the back of Rodney's vest, giving him one more anchor. He seemed to relax, just a bit, and then they were down, solid rock under their feet.

The bulk of the structures lay off to their right, small shanties and three-walled shacks that snugged up close to the shore, nearly spilling out onto the short wharves that were crowded with fishing dories. The deeper part of the harbor seemed to be directly in front of them, though. One long pier ran out into the black water, and one of the masted ships was tied up at the end.

Toms led them off to the left, away from the ships and towards a stretch of rock beach. A bonfire was already blazing, and some two or three dozen men were spread out around it, some sitting, some standing, a cluster pushing at each other in what might have been a dance or a fight. Their laughing voices carried easily on the breeze coming in off the water, though there were so many of them that John couldn't pick out any single conversation.

And then a figure stepped out from behind the bonfire, so tall that he couldn't be mistaken.

"And finally, they appear!" Fedeth shouted, waving them forward with a bottle of something in his right hand. "Come on, come on. Nothing too tart for your mouth, I promise!"

"It's only citrus!" Rodney protested, but John could tell he was in a much better mood already. Had been able to _feel_ him relax as soon as they stepped off the elevator, even though John had let go before they did.

"That smells so good," Lorne said, and John had to agree. They'd eaten only a few hours ago, but John's mouth was watering from the blend of hot seafood and spices drifting towards them. Somebody's stomach growled. Loudly. They both looked at Rodney, who held up both hands in denial.

"Sorry," Toms said, smiling ruefully. "It's been a long day."

"Don't let us keep you," Lorne said, and Toms took him at his word, running ahead past Fedeth. A group of men reached out to him, pulling him into their midst with hands on his arms and legs. John thought he saw some noogie-action going on, too, but that might have been the wind in Toms' hair. The sailors were definitely a handsy bunch, though.

Fedeth maybe most of all. Once they got in range he hugged each of them, hard enough to make Rodney squawk, and ended up with his arm wrapped around Lorne's shoulders again. He led them past the bonfire, where several broken stumps and a couple driftwood trunks served as seats to keep them up off the damp rock. In the middle of all of it was a huge kettle, resting over a smaller fire and giving off a steady stream of steam. A man with streaks of white at his temples stood tending it, and he started filling bowls as soon as they approached. Fedeth passed them out, the first to Lorne despite Rodney's longing gaze.

The dish reminded John of a soupy paella, only with not as much spice or rice. Rodney was making ecstatic noises over it, not bothering to stop to worry about lemon, and John was quite content to let go of his own concerns and just fill himself up with the warmth of the stew.

"Here," one of the sailors said, handing over a tin stein. It sloshed warm over John's hand as he took it. "Don't want to get parched, do you?"

John raised his hand to his mouth to lick away the wetness, which proved to be a smooth lager and not the heavy stout that Henton had served them earlier. He dropped his hand, and found Rodney staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. John glanced over to Lorne, worried that his unthinking action had come across as a seductive performance, but whatever the look on Lorne's face was, it wasn't disapproval. After a moment, Lorne smiled and raised his own stein in salute. The bonfire was highlighting his hair, casting shadows over his throat, making him look...

John sighed. He really didn't know what was going on in his own head. Rodney...there just wasn't any question about Rodney. Rodney eased something inside him that John hadn't even known was knotted up, made him feel giddy and free, better than any flight at Mach 2. What he and Rodney had was so different than what had been between him and Nancy, so easy and...real. He didn't doubt it. Definitely didn't want to screw it up.

But he couldn't stop looking at Lorne lately. _Evan,_ his brain supplied, rolling the name slowly forward like seaweed coasting in on the backside of a gentle swell. _Evan and Rodney._

"Corwit!" Fedith yelled out, breaking John out of his daydream. "They need to hear the one about the Eaderlings. This one is frightened of certain foods, too!"

Rodney huffed, and John gave him a teasing nudge as a pair of men made their way over. One was tall, darker in coloring and with a barely-there smile on his face. "It's not a shame to be frightened of food when it tries to eat you back," he said; John guessed he must be Corwit.

"It was just a little love-nip!" the other guy said, grinning. He was shorter than Corwit and looked like he was already well into the beer by the way he was using the other man as a post to lean on. Or maybe they were just really affectionate. It was hard to tell, given the way the men all around them were acting. "If you hadn't been so squeamish to start with, it never would have happened!"

They launched into a shared story that didn't make a whole lot of sense and kind of reminded John of Klingons bonding over gagh. By the end, though, he was laughing along with them, caught up in their amusement and the spirit of the evening. That tale led to another, and another, and then another round of beer. John eased his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and letting his thigh press tight against Rodney's. He shifted a bit, until it was natural for him to snake his arm behind Rodney's back. Rodney glanced over, giving him a curious look, but John just shrugged. It was a good night, they had the excuse of being in Rome, and he was pretty sure Lorne wouldn't tattle anyway.

It still took him a couple minutes to work up the courage to look over.

Lorne was looking back at him, but he jerked his gaze away the second after he met John's eyes. His jaw was tight, like he was close to grinding his teeth. Two seconds after that he stood up and headed off to the area being used as a latrine.

John tried to ignore the cold that was quickly replacing the alcohol-warmth in his belly. He'd been so sure that Lorne wouldn't care. Maybe he'd just been hoping too hard to read him right.

Corwit shoved his friend, blocking John's line of sight. "If you're so smart, Granif, you tell it!"

"I will!" He took a deep glug of beer, wiped his mustache free of foam, and burped loudly. "As soon as you tell me what I'm supposed to be talking about."

The sailors all around him busted up. John smiled, trying to get back into the spirit of things, but it was hopeless. He was cold-sober now, ready to get this mission over and done with. They needed to wait until Lorne came back, though; Fedeth had implied that he alone was the reason he was willing to share the secret of the spires.

Granif was finally building to his punchline when John realized Lorne hadn't come back yet. He'd been gone a good ten minutes, maybe more. John hoped he didn't have whatever Ronon had come down with. If he did, it was time to pack it in and get everyone back to the infirmary. John glanced at his watch, wondering if he should go check on him. He didn't really want to interrupt the guy during a private moment, but...

Rodney clued in a couple minutes later. "Where's Lorne?"

John shook his head. "I think he's in the head."

"For half an hour?"

John sighed. Yeah, maybe not. He keyed his radio. "Major Lorne. How's it going?"

Lorne didn't respond.

"Lorne, did you fall in over there?"

John looked at Rodney, who looked as worried as John felt. He reached for his radio again, intending to contact the rest of the team--but a strong hand curled around his wrist, stopping him before he could reach the button.

"Evan is fine," Fedeth said, and there was too much knowledge in that statement for John to be comfortable.

"Where is he?" Rodney asked.

Fedeth grinned. "He said he wanted to see the spires. And so he shall."

John didn't like the sound of that at all. He pulled his legs in, trying to angle himself away from Rodney so that he could get to his feet and pull his gun if he had to. "What exactly does that mean?"

Fedeth stood. All six foot six of him, smiling superiorly down at them. John scrambled upwards, but it didn't even out the intimidation factor all that much.

"He is to be my bonded. My sea mate, wedded to me in the place of witness."

" _What?_ " Rodney's voice cracked, but it was one more word than John could manage. "Are you kidding? You don't even know each other! I can't believe Lorne would just decide to do that. He didn't say anything about it!"

John glared at Fedeth as hard as he could, bringing every bit of hate he'd gained in Afghanistan and at the hands of the Wraith into his eyes. "He didn't decide, Rodney. Did he?"

Fedeth shrugged. "He has no bonds to keep him from joining with me. He _will_ choose, and I know I can make him happy."

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that for us." John didn't bring his P90 up yet, but oh, he was so ready to. But they were way outnumbered, and he had no idea if Lorne was standing in the line of fire five feet away. He took a deep breath and made himself calm down. Or at least look a little calmer on the outside. "Look. I get that Lorne is a pretty damn attractive guy. But you can't go snatching somebody because he catches your eye. Just let him go, and we can go back to our party here, no hard feelings."

Fedeth nodded. "No hard feelings, of course. But Evan stays with us."

"You do not want to make an enemy of me," John growled. "And if you go through with this, you definitely will."

To his surprise, Fedeth laughed. "Such determination for one who has gone unbonded for so long. I really didn't think anyone would fight for him, but if that is what you want, so be it."

John took a step forward, but Rodney caught his arm.

"Wait," Rodney said. "You say you're only doing this because Lorne doesn't have a husband?"

"Or a wife. He has no ties to your people, so I am free to make my claim." Fedeth rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip suggestively. "As you said yourself, he is a very attractive man. And I like his humor."

Rodney was trying to catch his eye, but John didn't need the prompting. "I'm afraid you're mistaken in your assumptions, then, because Lorne is bonded. So give him back before this gets really nasty."

Fededth raised an eyebrow. "Bonded? To whom?"

John didn't think. "Me."

Laughter roared up all around them. John had been aware of the sailors closing in while their argument grew, but they were surrounded by at least a dozen now, all laughing. John glanced at Rodney, who looked as puzzled as he felt. "What, you don't think I'm good enough for him or something?"

Fedeth leaned down, close enough that his wind-blown curls tickled against John's cheek. "Do not lie to me, _John_. We see your bond mate right here beside you."

 _Crap._ John tried to think. He could lie, disavow Rodney, but if they believed him, that would just leave Rodney open to getting husband-napped instead of Lorne. And he wasn't about to trade one for the other.

John widened his stance. Crossed his wrists across the butt of his P90 and grinned up at Fedeth as ferally as he could manage. "So you're only half stupid. Yes, Rodney is one of my bondmates. Evan is the other."

"Two men?" Fedeth looked out at his gathered mob of supporters, eyebrows high. "You're saying you have taken two men rather than a man and a woman?"

"I think I was pretty clear the first time around."

That drew a few chuckles from the group, but not as many as before. Fedeth was starting to look a little cranky around the edges. "I don't believe you."

John shrugged. "You know what? I don't care if you believe me. Because the truth is, Evan is mine, and I'm going to get him back." He took a step forward, forcing himself into Fedeth's space, and tapped him hard on the sternum. "No matter who's standing in my way."

Fedeth definitely wasn't smiling now. John could see his chest rise faster with each angry breath.

Someone coughed. "He has the right, Fedeth."

Fedeth's jaw jumped, but he didn't break his staring contest with John.

"Right to what?" Rodney asked.

Fedeth finally took a deep breath. He looked over to Rodney. "He has made his claim. Any who have ties to Evan may choose to fight for him. But if someone claims that he is already bonded, then that person has the right to prove the bond."

"I already told you I am."

"Will you prove it?"

John looked to Rodney, who looked like he was going to be sick all over Fedeth's boots. Would serve the bastard right. "As long as my people come out of this in one piece, then yeah, I'll do what it takes."

"Good." Fedeth nodded to someone behind him. John heard Rodney start to yell something--but then the pain hit, and the world went black.

*****

"John."

His head ached. That was the first thing he noticed. His head ached, and the room around him was dark and swaying--and Rodney's hand was on his face.

"John, wake up, please." Rodney was quiet, but John could hear the desperation as easily as if he'd been shouting.

"I'm awake." He caught Rodney's hand, holding on to it as he tried to get his bearings. After a few seconds he realized that his aching head was the only actual symptom of getting knocked out that he had. The room really was dark, and it really was swaying.

He moved his hand down and got a good grip on Rodney's forearm, and then heaved himself into a sitting position. He could sense walls close by, that there wasn't much space around them, and the smell couldn't be mistaken. "We're at sea."

He could just make out Rodney nodding. "As soon as they knocked you out, they took us out to Fedeth's ship." He swallowed loudly. "I, uh, didn't try to fight."

"Good." John found the back of Rodney's neck after a bit of fumbling--his coordination was still a little off--and just held on for a moment. "Good. What about Lorne?"

Rodney sighed. "Fedeth said he was on board, safe, but I haven't seen him. They're taking us somewhere, obviously, but he wouldn't tell me anything else. Just locked us in here without any food. Or water. Or food."

John stood up--carefully, hand held high above his head to make sure he didn't smack into any beams. Just standing in place was tricky, and he hoped that was because he hadn't gotten his sea legs yet, and not because he had a serious head injury. There wasn't a porthole anywhere that he could see, but there was a faint rectangle of light coming from his left. John slowly made his way over, and felt around for a knob, a lock, a gap he could pry loose, anything. The door was hinged on the outside, which meant that theoretically it should be easier to bust open from this side, but it felt far too solid to broach without a battering ram. And no, he wasn't carrying one of those around in his pocket, thank you very much.

"They took everything I had on me," Rodney said. "Not just the gun and radio. Laptop, scanner, tools, everything."

John sighed. "How long have I been out?"

"They took my watch, too." Rodney's shoes scratched loud against the planking as he shuffled forward. His outstretched hand hit John just below the throat before he stopped walking. "It felt like forever. I don't think it was all that long, though. Maybe twenty minutes?"

Twenty minutes. It wasn't that long, not when they were traveling by sail. But there were so many islands around them, and the long range sensors on the jumper didn't work. Atlantis would have a hell of a time finding them. And even if he, Rodney and Lorne managed to overpower Fedeth's whole crew of sailors, then they'd be stuck on a ship they didn't know how to sail with no idea where they were.

It wasn't the worst situation they'd ever been in. But it still sucked.

"Come on," John said, catching hold of Rodney's arm and tugging him back towards the pallet he'd woken up on.

"Do you have a plan?"

"Yeah." John sat back down, ass thumping a little uncomfortably from misjudging the distance. Rodney actually sat down beside him without any prompting. "We're going to sit here and wait until they come get us, and then we're going to try to talk ourselves out of this mess."

"So you're not going to fight." Rodney sounded relieved.

"No, there wouldn't be any point. We need the crew to get back to the jumper."

"I meant you're not going to fight Fedeth himself, not the whole crew."

"Fedeth? Why would I fight Fedeth?"

Rodney's hand brushed against the back of his head, and then his fingers were probing at the sore spot.

"Ow!" John grabbed his hand and pulled it down to his lap. "What the hell?"

"I just wanted to make sure your skull wasn't cracked open. You might have a concussion anyway, if you're not remembering stuff." Rodney squeezed his hand hard. "Right before they knocked you out, Fedeth said either you could prove Lorne was yours, or fight for him. Sounds like some big cage match set up, if you ask me."

"Oh, right." John frowned. "Well, if that's what it takes, then that's what I'll do."

"Are you insane? That guy could break Ronon in half with his pinky."

"I really doubt that." Although Ronon's mysterious illness made a hell of a lot more sense now. Especially with the way Abalyn had been fawning over him and feeding him tea. Worried about the best race horse in the field? Better dose him with a little ipecac to even things out.

"Yes, well, it doesn't matter if he could or not. You're not Ronon."

"Gee, I'm touched you noticed, McKay."

"You should be." Rodney sighed. "What about the other option? He said you could prove that Lorne was yours."

John rubbed the gooeyness out of the corners of his eyes. "What about it?"

Rodney was silent a long time. "Well, how exactly is someone supposed to prove that they're in a relationship with somebody?"

"I _don't know_ , Rodney. I don't have a ring handy, so I was going to go with Vogon love poetry."

"Yeah, that's... I hope that works," Rodney said, like John's suggestion had been completely serious. John poked him in the shoulder, but Rodney just half-heartedly batted at his finger and didn't say anything else.

"Okay, what's going through your head? How else would they want me to--" John clicked his mouth shut. _Oh._ "That's... You've got a dirty mind, Rodney. They can't possibly mean that."

"Yes, because obviously someone who kidnaps people with the intent of keeping them as his oh-so-happy sex slave wouldn't do something as obnoxious as asking for a live show." Rodney crossed his arms, right elbow bumping hard into John's side as he did it. John wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not. "And I'm the one with the filthy mind?"

"This really wasn't in the job description," John groaned. He dropped his head into his hands, but that didn't help his headache at all. Probably because by now it had less to do with getting hit and more with the situation.

"You have to do it."

John raised his head. "What?"

"If they want you to prove it that way, then you have to do it." Rodney sounded calm, but he was fidgeting like crazy. "You said yourself that we can't fight our way out of this."

"I can fight Fedeth by himself! I get that you don't think much of my skills, McKay, but I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You do have a choice! That's what I'm saying!" Rodney stood up and started pacing, right in front of him. It was amazing that he didn't trip over John's feet. "And it's not that I don't think you can fight. I don't know, maybe you can even beat him. But do you really think they'll just let us go if you do? If you do...whatever it turns out to be, then maybe they'll have to acknowledge Lorne isn't up for grabs."

"So I'm supposed to grab him instead? I don't think so, Rodney." John rubbed his face again. The damp was everywhere, seeping through the hull of the ship and his clothes alike. "Setting aside all the parts where it's rape if Lorne doesn't want to and the risk to our careers if he does, what makes you think they'd honor that more than a fight?"

Rodney sighed. He stopped pacing, found his way back to John by touch and sunk down beside him. "I don't know. I was just hoping, I guess."

"Hoping? You were hoping I'd cheat on you with Lorne?"

"Are you kidding? Let me think about this. You could either get the crap beaten out of you, possibly even be killed by some behemoth, or you could have sex with a hot guy we both like. Please." Rodney huffed. "And it's not cheating if I'm okay with it. Which I am, if you hadn't figured out yet."

John's breath felt too loud in the dark. His _pulse_ felt too loud in the dark, pounding the way it was. "Rodney? Are you saying that you _want_ me to have sex with Lorne?"

He could feel Rodney squirm. "The thought has crossed my mind a time or two, yes. But this isn't about fantasy, I swear. I don't want you to get yourself killed because you're too stubborn to do it the easy way."

"I got that." John tried to think about everything rationally, concentrate on the problems at hand, but he couldn't. "You'd really be okay with it?"

"I'd rather be involved, but God, yes. You two would be so hot together." Rodney was hot against him right now, leaning into his side. "Don't tell me he doesn't turn you on."

"Maybe a little," John breathed. He turned his head, found Rodney's cheek with his nose. "You have really lousy timing, you know that?"

"I know. God, I know." Rodney moved first, surging against him like this was their last chance ever for a kiss. John pressed back just as hard, just as hungry. Rodney whimpered deep in his throat, and John had a moment where all he wanted to do was push him down on the pallet and keep going. But he made himself pull away. This _really_ wasn't the right time.

"You know I can't, right?" His lips brushed Rodney's skin with every word. "Even if I was willing to give those bastards a show, I wouldn't do that to him."

"What do you mean you wouldn't--" Rodney pulled back. "You're kidding. You have to have noticed the way he looks at you."

John swallowed. "What, like a commanding officer? Although he's not really that good at the whole respect thing sometimes. Not that I'm one to talk..."

"I can't believe you." Rodney sounded completely exasperated. "You really don't notice, do you? Sometimes I think you're with me just because it's obvious how much I want you."

"Rodney, you know that's not true." John swallowed. "You do, don't you? This thing for Lorne--"

"Yes, I know." Rodney huffed. John could hear him take a breath, but he didn't say anything else. The silence grew between them, prodding at John to be more reassuring, more convincing. But he didn't know how, without coming across as insincerely sappy. Rodney would just roll his eyes at any big declarations.

Footsteps sounded outside the cabin. John stood up, and a second later the door he'd felt up earlier opened. Whoever was there was carrying a lantern, and John threw his arm up, trying to shield his eyes.

"It is time." The sailor backed away from them, leaving a halo of light on the floor that was much easier on the eyes. John grabbed for Rodney's arm, tugging him up. He took a deep breath, and then stepped out of the cabin.

They only had a short distance to go, half a hold and up a short flight of steps. Then they were out on the deck of the ship. The moon was out, bright enough that he could see it reflecting off the dark water all around them, gilding the mainsail and the light wood of the wheel, but he only had eyes for two things: Fedeth standing tall at the prow of the ship--and Lorne behind him.

"You okay, Major?" John called, and then he remembered the part he was supposed to be playing. "Evan? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine," Lorne called back. "Just waiting around for a rescue. _John._ "

John let out a sigh of relief. Lorne either knew what he'd said to Fedeth, or he was bright enough to play along.

"John." Rodney tapped him on the shoulder, almost politely if it weren't for the way he just didn't stop.

"What?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rodney point up. And up. John raised his head, looking beyond the lines of the masts. A thin spire rose straight up from the sea, needle thin at this distance and tall enough to touch the low-hanging moon. John started turning a slow circle, craning his neck as he tried to match what he was seeing to the painting in the tavern.

There weren't three spires. There were a dozen, ringing the ship in an uneven circle. And not thirty feet from where their ship sat calm was the main spire. It wasn't spikey like the others. A thick base at least as big around as Atlantis's main tower rose up ten, fifteen feet, and then it flaired out, forming an elongated bulb that towered above the ship. John couldn't tell for sure, not this far away, but the material looked smooth, darkly reflective like obsidian.

"Is that Ancient?" he asked.

"I don't think so." Rodney's voice was low, almost awed, but it must have carried on the wind.

"This is ours," Fedeth said, hand held palm up towards the main spire. "This is what remains of the greatness that my people were, before the floods came and changed our world forever. The spires alone remained to keep us safe, to protect us from the Wraith."

Rodney snorted. "Um, hello? You already said that you're as vulnerable to the Wraith as anybody else."

Fedeth sighed. He dropped his arm and walked towards them, slowly. John expected him to get angry. Maybe threaten them a little and then rattle off the usual spiel about how the old ways were the best, and hey, how about a little blood sacrifice to satisfy whatever gods or ancestors were supposed to be in charge.

"Yes," Fedeth said instead. "We are. Whatever power the spires had to protect us faded long ago, before our grandfathers' grandfathers' time. The stories say that light would shine forth like a second sun whenever the Wraith drew near, but I can only dream of such a thing."

"So what, you took Lorne because you want me to fix it?" Rodney asked. "You could have just asked."

Fedeth laughed. "How do you fix the unfixable?"

"I doubt it's unfixable. Unless it needs a ZPM or a power source of similar magnitude. The question is--" Rodney started snapping his fingers. "Hello! That's got to be it. The whatever it was that's causing the interference with the long range sensors. It's got to be some kind of power source somewhere. Low-level, probably underwater, but still impressive enough to be going after-- How long ago did you say the floods were?"

Fedeth shrugged. "Many generations. The rising water was the price we paid for holding so great a power, they say."

Rodney went still, then turned and pointed straight at John. "Global warming. That's what had to have happened. No ice caps, all the little islands... We're on Waterworld."

John raised an eyebrow. "You've seen Waterworld?"

Rodney looked like he'd swallowed wrong. "It was on a date. A date that went horribly, embarrassingly wrong, and can we get back to the whole maybe-not-unfixable-by-me-power-source thing now?"

"Actually," John said, taking a step towards Fedeth. "I'd like to get back the letting-Lorne-go thing. I get it, you wanted to be a bit theatrical, but you've showed us your magic spires, so let him go."

Fedeth smiled, but it looked sad. "No man who is not wedded to the sea may see them. Not unless he is brought here to be bonded to one who is, or has come to fight for another's return. That is the most ancient pledge amongst sailormen, the only one that is kept alive on every island home. I cannot allow you to break it."

"And yet it's okay to kidnap someone who is completely unwilling," John said. Whatever good will Fedeth's calm manner had bought, it was gone now.

"That is one of our traditions." Fedeth half-turned, looking back to where Lorne stood. John could see now that his hands were tied together and leashed to a post high above him. He looked annoyed more than angry or frightened, which helped settle John's stomach some. Not a lot, but some.

"What do I have to do?" John asked, tired of the game. His pulse started to pick up, Rodney's theory trying to push its way to the front of his thoughts. He licked his lips and pushed back, focusing on the here and now. "Tell me so we can get on with it."

"You claim him as your own mate, even with another standing at your side." Fedeth took a step forward, so that they were standing toe-to-toe now and John had to tip his head back. "I do not believe you, but my crew insists that you have the chance. So go to him, and prove that he is yours."

"Okay." John's mouth was completely dry, his lips sore from constantly licking away the salt-damp air. "How exactly do you want me to do that? We usually have papers with fancy seals on them from where I come from, but I don't have them on me."

Fedeth's smile was mocking. "Among our people, a kiss willingly accepted is enough."

"Oh." John's gut plummeted with relief--thank _God_ Rodney was wrong this time--but then it tightened up again as he processed what he really had to do.

He walked forward in a fog--a figurative fog, not a literal fog, because the everpresent clouds were high and thin tonight and wow, he was babbling like Rodney on their first real date--one foot planted on the wooden decking, then the other, and again, until he was standing in front of Lorne. Fedeth had followed, and he knew Rodney was behind him to his left, and he was vaguely aware of the other sailors who had been ringing them the whole time. But Lorne was in front of him, with a little half smile on his face--and John wanted to do this. Wanted to do it right, with Rodney the only audience and Lorne completely willing.

"I guess I drew the damsel card this month," Lorne said, lips quirking up even further, and John laughed, softly, letting some of his tension out with his breath.

"Nice of you to give me the time off," John said, grinning. "Last time Ronon wound up shooting me to get me out."

"I hear that's how he gets his fun these days." Lorne's eyes flicked down, towards John's mouth. Whatever Rodney thought, John wasn't completely oblivious to those kinds of signals. Frequently confused, yes, and the price of being wrong was rarely worth the risk.

He thought he'd be okay this once.

John moved forward, close enough that he was in Lorne's personal space, but not actually pinning him against the wood behind him. "So, ah, you know what's going on here?"

Lorne looked over John's shoulder, where Fedeth waited. "I got the picture pretty clearly."

"Right." John looked back, towards Rodney. It took a moment for Rodney to look up, away from where they'd been nearly touching. John knew that look on his face, had seen it so many times in the dark that the moonlight was almost extraneous. He waited anyway. Waited until Rodney rolled his eyes and motioned for him to get on with it.

"So, Evan. Fedeth here doesn't believe that you're mine." The _mine_ came out more gravely than John had intended.

"His mistake, obviously."

"Right." John had to swallow twice to clear his throat. "Will you willingly accept a kiss from me, to prove it to him?"

"Absolutely." And Lorne--Evan--tipped his head back, readying himself. John only intended to brush a quick peck across his lips, but Evan opened his mouth, just enough that John couldn't resist the offer. Their tongues brushed together, and John desperately wanted to deepen the kiss, but Evan was still tied up. Still had no control over the situation, so John pulled back and turned to face Fedeth, his lips still wet.

"There," he spat. "Happy now?"

"Oh, I am far from happy." Fedeth sighed, gaze heavy on Evan. "You have proved your claim, but I will have my turn."

"That wasn't part of the deal." John went for his P90 without thinking, but of course it wasn't there. He could see movement off to his left, one of the watching sailors moving forward.

"Oh, but it is." Fedeth stepped in, nearly shouldering John out of the way. "And you will let me have my say."

Evan nodded at him, but it was Rodney's hand clutching at his shirtsleeve that got John moving backwards. A kiss. Nothing more than a kiss by Fedeth's rules, and Evan could handle that.

"Evan Lorne. I see in you all the power and swiftness of the sea beneath me, and you thrill my veins like no other man has ever done." Fedeth rested his hand on Lorne's chest, just below his throat. John's muscles twitched, urging him forward, but the look on Fedeth's face was so besotted that he managed to hold himself back. "I know that you have the skies in your hands, and that perhaps the oceans look small to you because of that. And for that reason I've done this thing, and asked my people to help me to do it, when they were right that the old ways weren't the best way to your heart."

John raised his eyebrows. He glanced at Rodney, who looked just as shocked as he was. Maybe they were going to get out of this thing after all.

"Kidnapping really isn't my idea of foreplay," Evan said dryly. "Not that I'm not flattered, but sorry, no. Maybe if you hadn't..."

"I don't think you would have." Fedeth looked up, spreading his arms wide towards the sky and the towers above them. "But you wanted to know the spires. Marliane warned me that I would pay for my arrogance, but I could not resist the temptation."

"That's...sweetly creepy." Evan looked their way again, eyebrows all over the place.

Fedeth nodded. "But will you accept a kiss from me willingly?"

Evan shook his head. "No."

"So be it." Fedeth reached for his belt. John saw the flash, was moving before his mind registered the knife. Fedeth twisted, catching John's ankle with his own and sending him tumbling to the deck. By the time he righted himself again Fedeth had the knife out--and was using it to cut Evan free.

"I would fight you for him, if I thought he wanted to stay." Fedeth resheathed the knife and turned his back on Evan. He moved towards John, walking wiith slow, sad grace. He dropped the rope that had bound Evan's wrists into John's hands. Then he grinned, mad-happy again as sudden as the sun in January. "But I look forward to witnessing the three of you come together as husbands. We haven't had the pleasure of watching a union of three since before I took charge of our ships."

John blinked. "Um."

Fedeth laughed. A great big, crowing laugh with his eyes crimped tight and his mouth open to the sky. "Oh, you should see your face. That alone is almost worth the grief I have caused tonight."

John was saved from having to respond by a wind kicking up hard, gusting debris into his eyes and snapping the furled sails against the masts. He looked towards the source instictively--which is why he saw the jumper uncloak. Whoever was flying--Danforth or Friedman, could be either one--brought it down backwards, butt of the jumper to the portside of the ship until it was just a few feet higher than the deck.

The hatch lowered slowly, filling the night sky with a growing rectangle of warm yellow light. By the time it was halfway down, John could see a figure outlined against that light. Teyla, with her legs braced wide and a P90 cradled in her hands, standing like some terrible sky goddess of destruction. Or better yet, Ellen Ripley ready to kick some alien ass.

"Colonel," she shouted. "Do you need any assistance?"

"We could use a lift," he shouted back. He figured Fedeth was remorseful enough to take them back to the village without any hinky stuff, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

"It'd be nice to have our weapons and other equipment back," Lorne said, barely loud enough for John to hear. He was talking to Fedeth, hands on his hips like he hadn't just been tied up and had two grown men beg for his kiss. "It'd go a long way towards repairing the relationship between our people."

Fedeth nodded. It only took another minute for a pair of sailors to return with their stuff. John zipped into his tac vest, checked the P90 and his pistol, but he didn't bother with anything else. The jumper descended another few feet, so that they wouldn't have to step over open water to get in. It was still a trickly maneuver, what with the ship rocking in near counterpoint to the jumper, but Ronon was there to help. He was pale and sweaty, but he was there, and the three of them made it in without problem.

"Good skies to you all," Fedeth called, and that was the last thing they heard before the hatch closed.

"Well," John said, taking his first deep breath in what felt like forever. "Have I ever mentioned that you guys have fantastic timing?"

Teyla smiled. "Once or twice. Truthfully, we should have not taken so long, but I didn't act on my suspicions until we could not raise you on the radios."

"I'm just glad you made it." Friedman was taking them up, hovering above the spires, but not away just yet. "How'd you find us, anyway?"

"Marliane knew the general direction to go," Teyla said. "And it did not take much convincing for her to tell us."

"We just kept flying until we picked up your sub-Qs," Danforth said.

John nodded. "Good work. Now let's get out of here."

"Wait!" Rodney yelped. "What about the spires? The technology is like nothing I've seen, and there's got to be so much more down there. We can't just leave."

"Some other time, McKay." He wanted to get home, get Ronon and everybody else checked out before anything else could go wrong.

"But the long range sensors don't work. How are we going to find our way back here?"

"We have a record of the flight path, Dr. McKay," Danforth said. "It shouldn't be any harder to find it the second time around than it was the first."

"Oh, right." That seemed to do it. Rodney sort of slid down to the bench seat next to where Ronon had collapsed on the floor. Teyla gave them both a fond look. John caught her arm when she moved towards the forward compartment.

"How good _was_ your timing?" he asked as softly as he could.

She tilted her head to the side. "I am not sure what you mean."

John frowned. "You didn't see anything...odd going on between any of us, did you?"

Teyla shook her head. "The four of you were simply standing around, looking at each other, as far as I was able to tell. If something happened after I moved to the back, I do not know."

"Nope, nothing." John smiled and let go of her arm. Teyla gave him another funny look, but it was full of enough resigned affection that John didn't feel he had to explain. She moved on, taking the open seat next to Dr. Lindsay. Lorne had already slipped by, and was standing between the front seats, watching the screen as they flew back towards the gate. John stretched out on the free bench and closed his eyes, trying to forget that this day had happened.

*****

John walked towards his quarters as fast as was seemly. No sense in getting the patrols' attention, making them question their commanding officer to see if he was headed off to an emergency, when he simply wanted to kick his shoes off and relax as soon as possible. They hadn't been on PX5-624 even twelve hours, but it felt longer than that. He wasn't exhausted, but he was worn out mentally.

And keyed up, too, if he were being honest with himself. He could still feel Lorne's lips against his. Could still hear the way Rodney had gone all breathy while they talked about the fantasy. He hoped Rodney hadn't already gotten caught up in his work. John _really_ wanted to finish what they'd started earlier.

He stepped through the doorway of his quarters--and pulled up short. Rodney and Lorne were sitting side-by-side on his bed, angled towards each other so that their knees were touching. They looked up slowly, as if their conversation was too interesting to leave behind. John took another step in, letting the door slide closed behind him.

"Lorne," he said, giving him a cautious nod.

Lorne nodded back.

"He was-- We were talking," Rodney babbled, which put John even further on edge. "He brought me this."

John took the dangling pendant Rodney held out to him. It was a black-dark blue or burgundy, made out of some kind of light glass or very hard plastic and sculpted into the shape of a shark's tooth. Or maybe a stylized wave. He passed it back, and Rodney grabbed on like it was a miniature ZPM.

"Apparently the spires aren't as everlasting as they look," Lorne explained. He had one hand flat on the mattress behind him now, supporting himself as he looked up at John. The position stretched his black shirt tight across his chest. "They carve these out of the bits they find floating."

"At least they're not chipping away at the spires themselves," Rodney muttered.

John nodded. "So what, you're planning on testing it? See what it's made from?"

To his surprise, Rodney pinked up. He glanced at Lorne, then back up at John. "Um. I hadn't actually decided yet." He cleared his throat. "I mean, if we go back to the Noroon, then we'll have access to the actual structure."

John looked between the two of them. Something else was going on, but he couldn't figure out what.

"Fedeth gave them to me," Lorne finally said. He stretched the neck of his shirt to the side far enough that John could see the leather cord against his skin. "Before we got to the spires. They're supposed to be a symbol of the pledge between...well, you know." He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "I thought maybe I'd hang on to mine as a souvenir."

John could almost buy that. He'd known guys who'd brought home stranger--and a lot more disturbing--things as trophies of their time served. Hell, a pretty little necklace to commemorate one of the times you got kidnapped had nothing on trying to smuggle a grenade out in the gas tank of a truck. Except Lorne couldn't seem to look away from his own toes, and Rodney had the cord wrapped so tightly around his wrist that a halo of white surrounded it on his skin.

He crossed the room, half-sitting down on the bureau beside the bed and leaning forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees. His body didn't know whether to be turned on or be tired, and his brain just wasn't quick enough tonight to play all the games that needed to be played.

"What do you really want," he asked softly, "Evan?"

Lorne looked up with a tight smile on his lips. "More than I have any right to ask for."

John caught his breath. This was stupid. They didn't have any excuse now, couldn't write it off as some attempt to escape captivity. He was willing to take chances with Rodney--but Rodney's career wasn't at risk. And John wasn't in a position to force Rodney into taking that risk.

"You know I can't ask," John said at last.

Lorne nodded.

"But if anything ever happened, Rodney would have to be involved."

Lorne grinned, slow and predatory. "Oh, that is not a problem _at all_."

Rodney whimpered.

"Good." Because no Rodney would have been a deal-breaker, no matter how hot Lorne looked, smiling up at him like John was on the menu. John cleared his throat. "Good."

"Oh, for God's sake. I'm not going to watch you two stare at each other all day." Rodney leaned forward, catching hold of Lorne's arm like he was going to pull him in for a brain-melting kiss. But Lorne turned his head, and Rodney stalled out. "Um."

"I think that's the most eloquent I've ever heard you, Rodney," Lorne teased.

Which was exactly the right thing to do. Rodney snorted. "Right. Just wait until later, and we'll see who's the eloquent one." Then he moved forward, angling his head for an awkward kiss. Lorne went with it, and then Rodney brought his hands up, framing Lorne's face, and it went from awkward to hungry just that quick.

Rodney'd been right about that much--watching him and Lorne kiss was the hottest thing John had ever seen. Lorne brought his supporting hand up, wrapping both arms around Rodney's back, and Rodney tipped them over onto the bed. Rodney was draped over his chest, but their hips hadn't met yet, giving John a very good view. Lorne's jeans were tight, showing off the hard line of his cock temptingly.

John slipped off the dresser and bent down to untie his boots. He toed them off quietly, then walked around the foot of the bed so he could slip in on the other side of Rodney. The physics of this was going to be tricky, especially on his tiny bed, but Rodney had a way of making tricky physics simple. He ran his right hand over Rodney's back, on down to play with Rodney's ass. Rodney raised his head and looked back over his shoulder, smiling. His lips were red and his pupils blown already, and John went from half-hard to full mast.

"You need a bigger bed," Lorne said. He did something, shifted a bit, and Rodney rolled over snug against John's hip. John let his hand drift with the motion, until he was oh-so-accidentally cupping Rodney's cock through his pants.

"I keep forgetting to requisition one," John said, lazily working his thumb over the growing damp patch. Lorne had shifted upwards, propping up on his elbows so he could watch the show. "I never seem to have the time, what with always having to rescue damsels in distress."

"Or having to get rescued yourself," Rodney added. It might have been a better burn if he hadn't panted out the words, or if he hadn't pulled his right leg high and wide to give John better access. John obliged by running his hand down to his balls. The material over them was nearly skin-hot, and John loved the soft weight of them, the way Rodney squirmed as John played.

Lorne shifted again, sitting up and swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. Rodney managed to sprawl out to take up most of the surface area without ever truly moving; it was one of his innate talents, like remembering every single gate address they'd ever dialed and being able to inhale a whole meal without once interrupting his own lecture. Lorne's shoes clattered to the floor, and then his left hand was above John's, unbuttoning Rodney's pants and working the zipper down.

"Oh, God," Rodney said.

"Yeah, keep talking, McKay." Lorne grinned down at him. "I want to know exactly how eloquent I have to be later to win."

"That's not--" Rodney squeezed his eyes shut when Lorne slipped his hand through the placket. John could see his fist move under the cloth. "--fair. Just-- Please?"

"Please what?" Lorne asked.

"I don't know. Anything." Rodney was staring sightlessly upwards, mouth open as his breathing sped up. He looked half-crazed, what with his hair spiked from the sea air and their long, frustrating day, as well as the thick stubble along the line of his jaw. John caught Lorne by the wrist, stopping his hand.

"What do you want, Rodney? _Really._ "

Rodney took several breaths, each one longer and fuller than the last. Lorne was watching him, eyes dark and intense; he hadn't been lying when he'd told John that including Rodney wouldn't be a problem.

"I want to watch him fuck you," Rodney said at last. "I've wanted--that."

John nodded, understanding what he couldn't get out in a full sentence in front of Lorne. That was Rodney's full fantasy, what he'd been talking about earlier on the ship. "What do you say, Evan?" John asked, but by the way Lorne's lips had parted, he didn't think he was reluctant. "Do you think you can handle that?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," Lorne said, and John could almost hear the _sir_ at the end. But it wasn't there, and the way Lorne was looking at him didn't look subordinate at all.

"Good." John let go of his wrist, then he stood up so he could get their clothes out of the way. Rodney's pants and smiley-face boxers went first, John dragging them down until he had to stop to pull off Rodney's shoes. He tossed them all to the floor, somewhere in the middle of the room where he wouldn't trip over them maneuvering around the bed. Rodney and Lorne were working on getting Rodney's shirt over his head without falling out of bed, so John took a few seconds to strip out of his own clothes.

Which only left Lorne.

Lorne looked from John to Rodney to John again. "Give me a minute," he said in response to their pointed looks. "You guys aren't the only ones with fantasies, you know."

"What, your fantasy didn't include getting naked?" Rodney asked.

Lorne snorted. "You've got me there." He stood up and stripped off his T-shirt in one smooth move. His fingers on the button and zipper of his jeans seemed to take forever, drawing out the moment with striptease precision, but that was probably just John's impatience slowing time. Lorne finally pushed his jeans down--and he wasn't wearing underwear. His cock bobbed free, thick and clearly eager for more.

He sat down on the bed again, across from John at Rodney's waist. John cupped his hand around the back of Lorne's neck, drawing him forward for their second kiss. Their first that wasn't forced. It wasn't as needy this time, not as desperate, but full of the certainty of something _more_. That this time, neither one of them would be able to hide from what they really wanted.

"I feel like a kid at his first all-you-can-eat buffet," Lorne said, smiling against John's mouth.

"Well, you can stay all day at this one," John said, feeling a bit dangerous. "And you don't have to get a fresh plate every time."

"What does that even mean?" Rodney asked, sounding horny and bewildered.

Lorne laughed. John pulled back, but he held Lorne's gaze as he spoke. "What's your choice, Rodney? A nice little blow job for the main course, and then Evan having his way with me for dessert?"

Rodney cleared his throat. "Your metaphors suck, but, ah, yes, that sounds perfect."

John grinned. Lorne returned it, wolfishly. John started to lower his head, but Lorne caught him by the shoulder. John acquiesed easily; he wasn't going to pretend that the idea of seeing Lorne get Rodney off wasn't something he didn't want to see.

Lorne settled in between Rodney's legs. John watched him move forward, teasingly slow, watched him lick over the wetness on the head of Rodney's cock. Rodney tensed beside him and let out a strangled moan. John tore his gaze away so he could stretch out on his side, squeezing himself into the small space next to Rodney.

"Hey," he whispered, sweeping his hand up Rodney's belly, stopping to finger his chest hair. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," Rodney said shakily. "Not ba-- Oh, God."

John looked back down the bed, and found Lorne looking up at them, eyes straining upwards as he slid his mouth over Rodney's cock. John reached down, brushing a finger over Lorne's cheek, feeling his lips stretched wide, and circled the base of Rodney's cock. Then he turned back so he could focus on Rodney. Rodney kissed him hungrily, sloppily, fingers digging into John's left shoulder--until his mouth went completely slack. John watched as the orgasm washed over his face, his own cock throbbing hard against Rodney's hip.

"Oh, God," Rodney whimpered before he opened his eyes again. He smacked his lips twice, and then he grinned up at John, smug and happy and satisfied. John chuckled and kissed him again.

"Was that okay?" Lorne's voice was gravelly, the thing seduction was made of, and John reached down and hauled him upward by the upper arm. He collapsed half across Rodney, but John kissed him hard anyway, until the taste of Rodney started to fade and Rodney himself was shoving against them.

"Okay, okay," Rodney said. "Yes, wonderful, thank you. Now get off."

The three of them squirmed around until Rodney was sitting against the wall, back padded ever so nicely with all of John's pillows. He slouched down so that John's head had a nice pillow, too, laying between Rodney's legs as he was. Lorne wound up kneeling between John's spread thighs, which was almost perfect as far as John was concerned. John opened his legs further, pressing into Rodney.

Lorne took the hint. He slid his hands up the sensitive skin of John's inner thighs, taking his time to stroke and play. His usual half-smile was missing, and there wasn't an amused gleam lighting up his eyes. He looked...intense. Like a pilot before his first flight. He leaned forward, kissing John long and lingeringly. John stroked a hand down his side, over the striations of muscle and bumps of his ribs, and got his hand on Lorne's cock for the first time. Lorne gasped into his mouth. John tightened his grip, but before he could get a good rhythm going Lorne pulled his hips back, freeing his cock from John's hand.

"Not yet." He kissed John again, then strained up to kiss Rodney. Then he slid down, kissing John's belly open-mouthed until it quivered in response. Lorne grinned up at him, breath hot just above John's cock, and an embarrassing whine slipped out of John's throat.

"Maybe later," he said, swiping his tongue across the head of John's cock, but he was gone again before the pleasure really sank in. He moved down, mouthing John's balls for a few glorious seconds, but then he was gone again. John couldn't spread his legs wider, so he drew his knees up, begging for everything. He heard a drawer slide open, and then Rodney's hand was in front of him, dripping lube onto Lorne's cupped hand.

Lorne held John's gaze as he pushed his finger in, the desire in his eyes so easy to read. John wasn't sure why he doubted it before--except he knew that he couldn't afford to believe, not when he couldn't give the possibility free rein. But Rodney was right here behind him, sweaty-hot and running his hands all over John's shoulders, chest, neck, grounding them both. John let his want rise up, let himself fuck back on Lorne's fingers without restraint.

Rodney's hands left him again. John heard the ripping tear, felt a drop of cold splash onto his shoulder, and then Rodney was handing Lorne the condom. Lorne squeezed the tip and settled it onto the head of his cock--but John was the one who rolled it down his length. Lorne's eyelids fluttered with his touch. John turned his wrist so he could get a grip on the base of him, and tugged, leading Lorne forward by his cock.

"Hang on." Lorne got his hands under John's ass and pushed, angling them upwards, and John did as much as he could with Rodney behind him to help. Then Lorne was pushing in, and God, it was perfect. John flailed his right hand behind him, and Rodney caught it, lacing their fingers together as Lorne started to thrust.

"So hot," Rodney murmured. "You should see it, John. You're both so... Hot."

John grunted in response. Lorne had John's ass angled high now, nearly on his lap, leaving John curled nearly in half, his chin tucked tight against his chest. But it was good, so worth it, Lorne hitting him sweet with every thrust. All John could do was lay there and think about letting the moans out, but every time he tried to draw breath Lorne would move again.

Rodney brought their hands down, pushing John's across his belly. "Go on," he said. "Show us."

It took John three tries to find his own cock. Not that it wasn't throbbing huge with need, but Lorne was pounding him hard now, shaking his aim, and the second time he got distracted when his fingers grazed across Lorne's belly. But he was too turned on to linger. He'd been wound tight all day, nerves strung taught by Lorne's flirting and Rodney's fantasies and the adrenaline high of Fedeth's machinations. He started stroking immediately, fast and without finesse, just going after what felt good until he was coming hard, all over himself and getting it on Lorne's belly as well.

"Oh, fuck," Lorne groaned. He shoved in hard. John could feel him come, even through the condom. His eyes were screwed tight, his mouth open, until he shuddered one last time and sucked in a breath. John could see his arms shaking, so he dropped his legs and drew Lorne forward, gasping himself when Lorne's belly pressed into his still-sensitive cock.

"You've really got to get a bigger bed," Rodney said. John smiled, happily sandwiched between Rodney and Lorne, one arm wrapped around each. "Or my back is going to be irreperably damaged."

John chuckled, still a bit breathless. "I'll make Evan do it. He's in charge of requisitions, anyway."

"Mmmph," Lorne said.

Rodney ground his heel into Lorne's ribs. "What was that? I'm afraid my puny brain wasn't able to grasp the depth of that highly intellectual statement."

"Fck...'kay," Lorne muttered into John's skin. John stroked his fingers through the damp hair at the base of Lorne's skull as he smiled back at Rodney.

"I think we broke him," he said conspiratorially.

"It's not like I didn't warn him."

Lorne laughed, breath huffing out in tickling waves across John's skin. He pushed himself up with one hand, just enough to meet Rodney's eyes. "Fine. You win. But I demand a rematch."

Rodney was flushed, satisfaction and happiness making him look more perfectly smug than ever. John could feel him perking up against his back, so it wasn't hard to make the offer. "Any time," John said. "We'll be here."

Lorne's smile froze, but it wasn't a bad thing. Instead, he looked thoughtful, and a little bit shy. He scrambled over John's legs, off the bed, and John had to fight down a rush of disappointment. He knew the bed wasn't all that comfy, but he'd been hoping to get a _little bit_ more post-coital time.

Lorne didn't pull his jeans back on, though. He just groped in his pocket, finally coming up with something he kept hidden in his fist as he turned back to them.

"Ah," he said, scratching at his ear with the index finger of his left hand. John was kind of caught up in getting a good look at him. He looked amazing, naked except for the necklace around his neck, his hair darkened from exertion and his skin still flushed. "I don't want to make a thing out of this, but if you want it..."

Lorne opened his hand, palm up. Another necklace was curled in on itself, the same dark stone peeking out between the length of leather cord. John swallowed hard, but he took it without hesitation. He had no idea where they were headed, the three of them, had no idea how they could possibly make a relationship work, but he liked the idea of it. Liked the idea of this little reminder of a day that had turned from very bad to one of the best experiences of his life. He slipped the necklace over his head, staring down to where the pendant nestled against his dogtags.

"Wait a minute," Rodney said. "Fedeth gave you three necklaces? That's a little self-defeating, isn't it?"

Lorne snorted. "Well, he might have been a bit creepily obsessed, but I guess he was pretty observant, all things considered."

John shook his head. "I would have figured it out eventually," he said, and drew Lorne back down to the bed while Rodney laughed.

END


End file.
